Fifth Sunday after Pentecost: The Light of Christ and the Spiritual Combat.

A reading from the Holy Gospel according to the Apostle and Evangelist Saint Matthew (Mt 8:28–9:1).

“When he came to the other side, into the country of the Gadarenes, two demoniacs coming out of the tombs met him; they were so exceedingly fierce that no one could pass along that way. And behold, they cried out, ‘What have you to do with us, O Son of God? Have you come here to torment us before the time?’

Now a herd of many swine was feeding at some distance from them; and the demons begged him, saying, ‘If you cast us out, send us into the herd of swine.’ And he said to them, ‘Go.’ So they came out and went into the swine; and behold, the whole herd rushed down the steep bank into the sea and perished in the waters.

The herdsmen fled, and going into the city they told everything, especially what had happened to the demoniacs.

And behold, the whole city came out to meet Jesus; and when they saw him, they begged him to leave their region.

And getting into a boat he crossed over and came to his own city.”

Homily

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Beloved brothers and sisters in the Lord,

today the divine Word does not merely offer us separate teachings, but introduces us into a single, great invisible combat, in which the destiny of man is decided: the struggle between the light of Christ and the darkness that seeks to divide the human heart, between the communion that comes from God and the dispersion born of the deception of the ancient enemy.

And this combat is not distant from us, but takes place in the very depths of man, where thought is formed, where desire is born, where the orientation of life is decided. For this reason the Apostle groans for his people and brings them before God in prayer, and the Church listens to the voice of Chrysostom proclaiming that he “does not accuse, but intercedes; does not condemn, but brings man before the Lord,” because charity does not fight against men, but against what keeps them far from God (Hom. in Rom. XVII, PG 60, 613).

Thus the first face of spiritual combat is revealed: a man may be religious, may have zeal, may even burn with fervor for God, and yet remain exposed to deception if his knowledge is not illuminated by living truth. For this reason Basil the Great warns that “there is a zeal which does not come from the Spirit, but from the old man, and which leads to confusion rather than light” (Regulae fusius tractatae, PG 31, 908). Not everything that burns is light, not everything that appears as fervor is communion with God.

The mystery deepens when one understands that the true battlefield is the human heart. For, as Saint Macarius the Great teaches, “the heart is the center of man, and when grace dwells there, the whole man is illumined as by a hidden sun” (Hom. spir. XV, PG 34, 589), whereas when the heart is divided, man is fragmented, loses his inner unity, and becomes vulnerable to deception.

Here the deepest mystery opens: evil does not create, but divides; it does not generate life, but dispersion; it does not build, but dissolves. And thus man, when distant from God, does not become freer, but more broken, more internally contradictory, more exposed to deception.

The Holy Gospel then leads us to the place where this combat becomes visible: where Christ arrives in the region of the Gadarenes and encounters men inhabited by darkness, living among the tombs—sign of a humanity that, having separated itself from communion with God, enters into the logic of interior death.

And here the Fathers teach that the demon has no substance of its own, but acts only insofar as man separates himself from the light, because its action is always division, confusion, and temptation to live outside communion. But the Word of God has entered precisely to break this ancient work, because, as Saint Athanasius the Great teaches, the Son became flesh to destroy the works of the evil one and restore man to life (De Incarnatione, PG 25, 109–112).

When the power of the Lord manifests itself in the liberation of those enslaved by darkness, the Gospel adds a word that reveals the deepest mystery of the human heart: “Behold, the whole city came out to meet Jesus; and when they saw him, they begged him to leave their region” (Mt 8:34).

Here the hidden judgment of freedom is revealed: it is not only the demons who ask for distance, but men themselves, who see the light and reject it, contemplate liberation and fear the presence of the Liberator.

And this is the key of today’s Gospel: Christ comes into the region of the Gadarenes and meets two men possessed by unclean spirits, dwelling among the tombs—an image of man separated from God and handed over to interior dispersion.

On this point, Saint John Chrysostom observes with force: “Nothing is more miserable than a soul that departs from God, even if it dwells among men” (Homilies on Matthew, PG 57, 357). And indeed, these men are alive according to nature, but already marked by death according to communion.

The Fathers teach that the demon does not create, but deforms; does not give life, but breaks it; does not unite, but divides. Therefore, as Saint Athanasius recalls, “evil has no substance of its own, but is the privation of good” (Contra Gentes, 4). Thus the two men are placed among the tombs, sign of a life still present yet already overshadowed by death.

The city that asks Christ to depart and the two men among the tombs reveal the same reality from two sides: the interior dispersion of man and his rejection of communion with God.

When Christ arrives, the demons tremble and recognize Him, because darkness cannot ignore light, and falsehood is compelled to confess the truth before Him who is Eternal Truth. And Saint Basil the Great recalls: “In the presence of Christ, every hostile power is reduced to silence” (Homilia in Psalmum 33).

But the Lord does not dialogue with them: He commands with divine authority and casts them out, showing that the Kingdom of God is not in continuity with evil but is its definitive defeat.

And precisely this liberating presence also reveals human freedom: the same light that casts out darkness becomes, for those who reject it, a cause of distance.

Here the mystery of judgment is revealed: not only future, but already present, because the light of Christ, when rejected, becomes separation; His presence, when not received, becomes a departure willed by man himself.

When the inhabitants see the liberation of the possessed and ask Jesus to leave their territory, the deepest drama emerges: not the power of evil, but man’s resistance to the light, preferring his own securities to the presence of the Savior.

Once again, I found myself in my priestly ministry before a young man who approached the Sacrament of Reconciliation carrying not only the weight of his sins, but a deeper interior division—wounds, silences, and fears that had slowly distanced him from the light.

He was not simply living a moment in which he was confessing his sins to God inwardly; rather, he was undergoing an authentic metanoia, accomplished before God in the living presence of the Church, when the human heart opens itself to both judgment and mercy.

And the priest is not a judge according to the flesh, nor an external observer of conscience, but a spiritual father and witness: one who receives what man lays before God in the secrecy of his heart and accompanies him on the path of healing and reconciliation.

At that moment, what the Gospel proclaims became visible, because where the truth of God enters, falsehood loses its strength; and where Christ draws near, what was closed is opened, what was bound is loosened, what was oppressed begins to breathe.

At the end, that young man embraced me and burst into tears, almost of liberation, because man cannot encounter the mercy of God and remain as he was before: something within him had been broken—but in the sense of healing—and what was fragmented had begun to be gathered together again.

Thus is fulfilled the mystery of Christ’s victory, which is not only proclaimed in the Gospel signs, but continues in the life of the Church as the real liberation of man from his interior darkness.

And in this same light shines the memory of Saint Alban, Protomartyr of Britain, in whom faith does not remain hidden in the heart, but becomes visible testimony in the world.

Ancient tradition, narrated by the Venerable Bede, tells us that he was not won over by many arguments, but by the luminous life of a man of God under persecution, in whom he recognized a peace that does not belong to this world—a peace that no fear can produce and no threat can destroy (Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum I, 7).

Thus holiness becomes revelation, because a transformed life is already a refutation of the deception of evil, and the presence of a righteous man is already a light that unmasks falsehood.

And when the hour of trial came, he did not draw back, but confessed Christ before his persecutors; and his confession was not merely words, but a life entirely given, even unto blood. And so he entered into the victory of the Risen One, where death is no longer an end but a passage.

Thus, beloved brothers in the Lord, today the Word is not given to us merely to be contemplated, but to become a living judgment upon our hearts.

For there is no neutrality before Christ: either man is gathered into the communion of light, or he remains in the dispersion of darkness; either he allows himself to be healed in truth, or he remains captive to the deception that divides.

The demons in the Gospel know this, for they tremble before Him and confess His presence, while men often hear Him and do not recognize Him, see His works and yet drive Him away, like the inhabitants of the region who prefer their own securities to the presence of the Savior.

This is the greatest tragedy: not to be possessed by darkness, but to refuse the light; not to be far from Christ, but to ask Him to depart from one’s life.

For this reason the Lord passes near us today as well, and by His very presence separates what is true from what is false, what is alive from what is dead, what is of God from what resists God.

Thus each of us is placed before the ultimate mystery of freedom: not what we say about Christ, but what we allow Christ to be in our life.

And so the question is not only “Do you believe?”, but: do you allow Him to enter your inner tombs? Do you allow Him to command over your darkness?

Or do you still prefer the hidden places where light must not enter?

For the demon does not rule by force, but by consent; not by overwhelming power, but by hidden agreement; and he loses his dominion only when Christ is received fully, without reserve.

And therefore the Church today does not merely propose that we admire Saint Alban, but that we enter into his very decision, because he did not postpone the light, did not negotiate with truth, did not divide his heart between Christ and the world, but gave it entirely.

Thus we too, today, before this Word, cannot leave as we entered.

Either Christ is Lord of all, or He is not Lord at all in our life.

And so, with both fear and love, let us ask that the light not merely pass before us, but enter within us; that it not judge us from outside, but transform us from within; that it not remain an heard word, but become lived life.

For the day is coming when the light will no longer be merely offered, but fully revealed, and what is hidden will be made manifest, and what is divided will be judged.

Blessed is the man who already now allows himself to be healed, because then judgment will be for him revelation of glory and not of condemnation.

Through the intercession of Saint Alban, Protomartyr, may the Lord grant us not to resist His light, but to be found entirely in His communion, to Him be glory for ever and ever.

Amen.

Archpriest Michele Alberto Del Duca.